


Souls of the Lost

by keelywolfe



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before joining the Uncle team in New York, Illya spent some time training in London, and London is beast all on its own, that and the creatures within it....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souls of the Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I took a little liberty with Uncle canon, I know. Maybe a lot of liberty. And with London. And...well, I took a lot of liberties. *G* I started writing this story in the art auction at Mediawest a couple of years ago while sithdragn and ndannais read over my shoulder. It was always one of those stories I'd finish when I had a little time.

* * *

London was no than a city; it was more of a presence, an almost visible being made up of old buildings and held together by rolling fog and cobblestones. But it was the smell of it that was the key to memory, The soggy, decomposing smell of it, the mushroomy carbon monoxide stink of people and cars, the harsh reek reminiscent of burning rubber from the Underground intermingling with the heavy fried rush of salt and vinegar from a passing fish and chips vendor.

That was the London of the day. The nighttime, now, that was a different animal entirely, one that prowled out with a dank and foul-smelling fog. A discontent whore that refused to fall to her knees, and it was this London that Illya found himself walking through, alone.

Foolishly alone, Illya thought darkly. He could have called a taxi to take him home from the pub but it seemed ridiculously extravagant, the salary of a trainee being a mere pittance, when he could simply walk to his small flat and the other agents had been unwilling to leave so early in the night.

Illya was not foolish enough to turn aside invitations to meet with his colleagues outside of Headquarters. Cultivating a good working relationship with them would certainly have its benefits one way or another, but he was regretting that both his necessary frugality and his faint discomfort at being around them had caused him to beg off early. He’d paid for his round of drinks and cemented their liking of him and that had been enough.

But now here, on the streets of London with nothing but the rolling fog and the streetlights, Illya suspect he was not as alone as he might wish. A presence itched at the back of his neck and Illya forced himself not to increase his pace. He eased his hands into his pockets, eyes on the brickwork as he walked.

Perhaps he was simply being paranoid, too many years of cautious living serving him poorly. He had walked this path, and others, many times alone without molestation. It was possible, he admitted.

He doubted it. Paranoia was a longtime friend that had kept him alive more than once. He would trust it over any complacency. Illya bit the tip of his tongue, worrying it between his teeth. Someone, someone keeping pace with him and the only question was who.

Waiting drew out to a fine edge, sharp enough that when the attack finally came from behind, Illya’s reaction to it was pure reflex, stepping away and twisting back, striking in the approximate place where the person's face would be. There was a mingled sound of crunching bone and a muffled curse, and Illya moved backwards, his eyes never leaving the newly sprawled form on the sidewalk.

A man, his hair bright and obviously bleached to a blond so crisp it was a wonder his hair stayed attached to his scalp. Interesting. Particularly in contrast to the cobblestones beneath him, his long coat fanned around him like the wings of a bat. Illya pushed aside the fantastical thought impatiently. Whoever he was, he was in the least a thief, possibly worse, and undeserving of any interest aside from perhaps a lesson in the form of a punishing beating.

Before he could give form to his thought, the man pushed up smoothly to his feet with unnerving suddenness, his narrow face barely visible in the dim light from a nearby streetlamp. Dark crimson was visible against his lips and chin, a broad stream of blood flowing from his surely broken nose. The man swiped it away with the back of his hand and looked at it. His eyes were little more than darkened hollows in this light, barely visible lines of anger that melted into—bemusement, perhaps?

“Well, well, pet, little more bite than I gave you credit for,” the man said, eyebrows rising as he studied the smear of blood. His breathing was thick, words blurred as he sniffed once, hard, swiping at his nose and mouth again. “Never thought a pretty boy like you would have a set of bollocks worth using.”

Illya didn’t reply, adrenaline still burning through him, leaching away any unsteadiness from the alcohol. He waited in silence, unwilling to give this man his back again. Perhaps he could easily pound this man into the pavement, put years of training to good use this night but something about him felt strange, unsettling.

His lack of weapon for one, there were few muggers in any city that did not at least carry a knife. Confident as he was in his skills, Illya also knew such confidence had been the downfall of many an agent. Better perhaps to simply let it go and be on is way, as soon as he was sure he wouldn’t feel that oh, so lacking knife appear in his side the moment he looked away.

The longer they stood there in silence, a sharp grin on the other man’s face, the more disturbed Illya became. It felt ridiculously like a stand off, neither of them making a move to step away. The man’s grin widened suddenly, a white gleam of bared teeth cutting through the dank night.

“This might be more fun than I thought.” Slowly, he raised his bloody hand to his mouth, eyes never leaving Illya’s as he licked it clean. His tongue was a flash of pink against white skin, lingering to catch every trace even as he backed away. His eyes were blue, Illya noticed abruptly. Pale blue eyes set against pale skin.

“Be seeing you, pet,” he called softly, a laugh barely hidden beneath his voice. Illya shivered without knowing why and watched as he melted into the dark night. He was gone, of that Illya was certain but who he was or who might have sent him, well, that was a mystery yet to be solved.

Such was London.

Illya turned on heel and started walking again, keeping his pace as had been before. A running man was a target and he had had enough of being a target this night.

* * *

Once might be considered an accident, a violent fluke of crossing paths.

Twice could be coincident, if Illya were charitable. He wasn't, but his suspicion was well-deserved as a third time could only be intentional. Past that and matters were getting serious. It began as a flicker of blond just barely outside his line of sight as he walked home at night, escalating into a full body presence, standing on a street corner at dusk and the surrounding bystanders meant little. Illya may as well have still been along in the musky fog, watching blood drip from a stranger’s chin.

A week passed, two, and he was a constant presence. Watching, the strange man was always watching him, blue eyes hot and avid. It was the eyes that were worrisome, resembling ones that Illya had seen before. The piggish want in them, fickle desire that could often only be satiated with more blood and Illya would think about them at odd times, shivering in the comfortably warm offices and classrooms. It was an unwelcome distraction and one that needed to end.

Fleetingly, he thought to mention it to his superiors but he dismissed the idea almost as quickly as he’d considered it. Thrush was many things but subtle was not often amongst them and anyway, they would have very little reason to be stalking him.

Therefore, this was a personal matter and he would deal with it as such.

* * *

Illya had no trouble with subtlety but there were times when a problem could only be faced head on. It was after dusk when he left the Uncle headquarters in London. His stalker was waiting for him down the street he always walked, to the cheap flat that the agency provided for him. Leaning against the rough brick of a rundown building, shadowed away from the lamps. As Illya approached him, the end of his cigarette glowed brightly as he inhaled.

“What do you want?” Illya asked bluntly. The man was just slightly taller than him and Illya looked into his eyes calmly.

“Could start with your name,” the man exhaled a slow stream of smoke, touched his tongue lightly to his upper lip.

“After you."

He laughed, a quick, sharp sound in the growing dimness. “May as well call me Will. That’ll do for now. You?”

“Sasha “ Illya lied, easily. “Perhaps you would care to finish this elsewhere?”

“We could do that, pet,” Will said. He grinned ceaselessly. “Have someplace in mind?”

“Yes.”

Will pushed away from the building and tucked a hand into his pocket and Illya took a discreet step back. Yet, no weapon appeared and so he turned to lead the way, giving his perhaps enemy the comforting illusion of his back.

It was more of a surprise that Will did not take the offered advantage and moved instead to walk beside Illya. “Don’t bump into many Russians around here these days.”

“Bumping into me" Illya asked mildly, his eyes forward. "Is that what you were doing last week?”

Soft laughter. “Oh, pet, I have something much better in mind."

They walked briskly, William smoking one cigarette after another as the buildings around them grew more and more depilated, the clothing of the street patrons grew ever more cheap and filthy.

“Here.” Illya said, softly, gesturing at a splintery door. William eyed it dubiously as Illya unlocked the door. It was an seemingly abandoned warehouse that was owned by Uncle and he owed the quartermaster a favor for loaning him the key but his own flat would hardly be appropriate for this rendezvous.

He stepped back, gesturing for Will to enter before him and for a moment he thought the man would refuse. That he would step back and away and perhaps the game would begin again next week but on different terms, ones that Illya would not find as easy to reconcile.

Just as Illya was sure he would walk away and leave him in the crashing failure of his plans, William grinned at him again, and stepped inside. That was his first mistake, Illya thought, an expert stalker who was still so obviously an amateur and his second was letting Illya get close behind him after he’d closed the door. It took only a brief flick of his fingers to inject him with the soporific. The reaction was instantaneous, a testament to the Uncle medical technicians as Will collapsed instantly, crashing heavily to the dirty floor.

Illya flipped him over with a grunt and was momentarily panicked to feel no pulse but a snoring inhalation calmed him. He wanted to teach a lesson, not kill him.

Not unless it was necessary.

Slipping his hands beneath Will’s arms, Illya slowly dragged him further into the warehouse, away from the doors and windows to the place he’d prepared. It was difficult moving the limp form and took longer than he would have preferred to manhandle him into place. But soon enough Illya had William where he wanted him.

Briefly, he studied the unconscious blond sprawled out on the narrow bed he'd purchased the day before. The bed had cost him the last of his petty cash for the month and he would be eating lightly until his next paycheck.

The cuffs and chains he'd brought with him had been a gift.

 

* * *

William woke with animal abruptness, going from a drugged stupor to sharp alertness with disturbing ease. Standing behind him as he was, Illya could nevertheless see when he realized his position, registered his nudity, the chains binding him on his stomach to an unfamiliar bed. To his credit, he said nothing, the chains rattling as he tested their give and length. There was very little. William was perhaps little more than a talented amateur in these matters but Illya was not.

He took a step, let his boots scrape deliberately and watched William jerk, his head craning as he tried, uselessly, to look over his shoulder. Another step, another, until William was quivering with tension, still silent, though his hands were curled around the chains in a whitened grip.

"You thought I would be easy, didn't you?" Illya ran one finger down the smooth line of William's back, felt the faint curve of bone beneath silky skin and muscle. Very pretty, slim to the point of emaciation, but the curves of his buttocks were full, muscled and firm beneath his fingertips. He heard the soft rattle of the chains tightening, William tensing unbearably beneath his light touch.

"Didn't you?" He leaned in enough to breath it against the curve of William's ear, let the words caress him in place of his hands. No answer, not even the sound of breathing. Illya would have thought him dead if not for his grip on the cuff chains, knuckles bone-white.

Gently, he slid his fingers into pale, crisp curls, lighter even than his own, rubbing his fingers along the curve of his skull. He felt William relax into it in degrees, warily tilting his head in silent acquiesce to his petting. Immediately, he tightened his grip, roughly pulling William's head back and finally there was a satisfying hiss of pain.

"No one fucks with me, pet," he whispered harshly.

"You don't have the stones for it." It was the first that he'd spoken, easy and confident, and William truly believed it, Illya knew.

"Oh, I believe I can arrange a visual demonstration. Perhaps when you're gagging around them you'll be a believer?"

"Try it and you won't be leaving with them," William said darkly, all hints of humor disappearing like vapor.

Illya propped his chin on one hand, thoughtfully. "Yes, that would be inconvenient. Something else, then." He laid a hand lightly in the small of William's back for a moment before very lightly scratched the edge of a nail down the hard, bare curve of William's hip. The man snarled, thrashing against the chains holding him and Illya leaned back involuntarily, the insane thought flickering through him that William might actually break the chains.

But that was impossible, no amount of panic would allow a man to break through steel links, and as he watched William seemed to realize it, relaxing into sullen stillness.

Illya took a deep breath and let it out, stifling the dismaying urge to ask William to do it again. His struggles had brought the lightest sheen of sweat to his skin, molten and glowing in the stark light from the single bare bulb. He could hear his own heartbeat, rabbiting in his ears as he braced his hands against the bed on either side of William, leaning over him without touching.

He smelled only faintly of smoke, of leather, his bare skin strangely pure of scent. Illya flicked his tongue against one pale shoulder, felt William barely flinch in response. He followed the slope of his shoulder blade upward, pressing his tongue flat to better taste the strangeness of his sweat.

Not even a flinch and it made Illya frown, digging his fingernails into his palms. He wasn't going to allow this pretty piece of gutter trash to do this, not after the past few weeks. It made him burn, a satisfying rush of anger displacing lust for a moment and he sank his teeth into the delicate, exposed lobe of William's ear, the giving flesh tender between them. It earned him nothing more than the barest of trembling. Anger rose, choking him ad Illya forced it back down, banking the heat in his gut. Temperance and care, he reminded himself.

"You're so quiet now," Illya chided, keeping his voice light. "Why not tell me no? If you beg prettily enough, I may stop." He smiled, letting William feel it against the back of his neck. "Perhaps."

"I'm going to feed you your still beating heart."

One should admire the purity of the rage in William's voice, Illya thought, a frisson of fear slicing cleanly into him. And he did, each lick and bite telling of his admiration as he shifted to crouch over William's prone form. The cheap springs of the bed squealed shrilly at his added weight, his knees tight against William's hips.

Last chance, and if he failed, he would admit defeat and leave him. He would make a call from a pay telephone and they would send a constable to release his too-reluctant stalker. The humiliation would be enough of a repayment for last week's dance.

Leaving him naked would have to be vengeance enough.

Illya relaxed his arms, pressing his clothed body against William's naked one. He rocked his hips slowly against William's backside, teeth digging into his lower lip at the sweet friction and he resisted the urge to grind himself against the man, faster and faster, until the friction burned hot as pain and he came in his trousers.

He forced himself into stillness, closing his eyes until the shakiness in his breathing eased. "My still beating heart? Perhaps," Illya agreed, finally, pleased with the steadiness of his voice. "But I'm going to fuck you first."

There, barely perceptible but there, sweet and obvious. A rushing inhalation, tightening muscles and Illya laughed silently. It wasn't fear that drew out a fresh layer of sweat over pale skin, that finally gave him the quick blurts of breath he'd been waiting for, and it certainly wasn't fear in the sudden arch of his hips back against Illya, William tugging against the chains hard enough to send a trickle of blood over one wrist.

"Let's see you do it then, you fucking poof," he snarled. Anger, yes, such anger in the words but William's voice was as good as a plea.

"Such a flirt," Illya murmured against one pale shoulder. Bare skin, so much barer for its paleness. Stiff muscle beneath his fingertips, not flinching but resisting nonetheless. Illya ignored it, pressed a damp kiss between William's shoulder blades and felt the faint flinch.

"So easy, that is what you thought?" Illya laughed softly, traced his tongue up to the line of his neck. There was barely a taste to that pale, pale skin, very faintly salt and it felt like satin beneath his tongue. Beautiful. "You thought I was just a little toy to play with and when you broke me, you would have tossed me aside with your other toys, yes?"

William was stubbornly silent, his hands clenched around the chains holding him. The whiteness of his knuckles was the only willing sign he gave of his anger but the faint tremor of his muscles, the slight hitch of his rare breath betrayed him.

"Ah," Illya sighed, ghosting a hand down William's bare back and lower, gliding over the curve of his ass. "Does it upset you, pet," he murmured, echoing William's sardonic little endearment, "That I will play with you instead?"

"I'm going to tear your throat out and wear your entrails as a necklace," William snarled hoarsely.

"I do so like a man who is not afraid to accessorize."

"I'm gonna to paint myself with your blood," William continued doggedly, a ragged gasp catching his voice as Illya pressed a dry finger inside him, probing deeply. Very tight, exquisitely so.

"I'm sure," Illya said silkily. He pulled his finger free and slipped off the bed, walking around to stand in front of his captive. Even in the yellowish light, William's eyes seemed to be nearly glowing, raw anger visible in those depths.

Illya held out a hand in front of William's mouth and didn't flinch as William lunged forward, teeth snapping a bare inch from his still hand. "Careful, pet, a person would think you did not like them. Spit."

"Fuck you!"

"Spit or you can enjoy a nice, dry fuck. I'm sure it will feel rather like scrubbing your asshole with sandpaper. Whatever your pleasure."

The wet glob struck his cheek, sliding ticklishly downward and Illya delicately wiped it away with one finger. Slid back behind him and shoved that damp finger back inside him.

"Thank you," Illya breathed into his ear, ignoring William's howl and arched back. Surprisingly cool inside, tight and barely slick and Illya pushed relentlessly deeper, felt muscles clenching and releasing as William tried to push him back out. "So tight," Illya crooned. "Has no one else ever kept you as a plaything?"

"No!" The sharp denial made Illya smile.

"Oh, I think you're lying to me, my pet. Someone else has enjoyed this, have they not?" He twisted his finger, pulling it out a fraction before adding another, shoving them back in brutally hard. William's denial was strangled into his garbled howl, hips arching up into Illya's touch.

"I think you like this," Illya breathed hotly. "I think you want me to play with you."

"Fucking bastard!"

"Oh, pet." It was a simple matter to skim off his own pants, climbing back on the bed and settling between those pale, splayed legs. He snugged his cock up against that barely stretched hole, pressing but not pushing inside. "That wasn't a no."

One brutal thrust forced his way inside, tight, yes, not quite slick enough but he pushed past any resistance, fucking his way in. William's howl was loud enough to make his ears ache, his own groan hidden within it. In one quick movement, he wound an arm around William's neck, forcing his head back.

"Tell me you want this," he hissed into the curve of his ear, tightening his hold when William tried to shake his head. He sank his teeth into the tender skin at the lobe, tasting sharp bitter blood and William screamed. "Tell me! Tell me to fuck you!"

Garbled denial in the vibration under his forearm. William bucked beneath him, surprisingly strong, and Illya rode it out like he might a spirited horse. Pretty, wild thing beneath him, pretending resistance, and had he wanted, Illya could have rode out his pleasure in those writhings, the snug, not-quite-slick channel surrounding him could yank his orgasm through him without a single movement on his part.

If he wanted.

At his first hard thrust, William howled his anger to the ceiling, tightening inside like bliss and Illya bit his lip, tasted blood as he struggled not to come right then. Brutally tight around him, oddly cool flesh clenching him tighter than a fist.

"It was supposed to be me like this, was it not?" Illya ground out.

"No!"

Illya ignored the snarled denial, driving his hips forward, sharp and nasty, until William snarled, his hands clenching into useless fists in the circle of the cuffs. "For a week you followed me, taunted me, and this was what you had planned for me. You followed me here. So terribly sorry to ruin your plans."

William made an odd choked sound, something like laughter, gasping out, "So do it, then."

He shifted just a little, pushing up towards Illya like a taunt and almost, he responded to it. The temptation was there, oh, yes. To drive into the tightness surrounding him, to grab those slim hips and pull William to his knees, to fuck him, rut into him mindlessly. Thread his fingers through soft curls and pull Williams head back so that he could bite at the strong line of his throat and just take it all.

Instead, Illya just barely moved his hips, one shallow thrust, another, a series of barely there little movements. It would be tempting to simply fuck William but there was a lesson to be taught here and Illya wanted it to be learned well.

And so he moved, made tiny circles with his hips, never enough, never close to deep enough, until William was writhing beneath him, squirming as much as that cuffs would allow and the sounds he made, ah, snarling and sweating like a beast, chilly sweat that made Illya's hands slip on William's slender hips, holding him still to slide in deep, hard, just once. Again, his own breath hot and damp in the crease of William's shoulder just as the other man threw his head back in a near scream.

"Fucking bastard!" William shrieked, hoarse and shrill, his voice cracking. "Fuck me harder, you goddamned poof, do it!"

"As you say," Illya panted, and did as he was told.

His first true thrust drew another garbled shriek, William bucking up against him desperately, a plea that his own needs no longer allowed him to ignore. Illya shifted his grip to William's forearms, felt that straining tendons beneath his fingers as he dug his nails into the thin skin and shoved viciously into him.

Pretty, always so pretty, Illya thought hazily. Pretty blond curls, crisp from peroxide against his cheek. Pretty as he cried and begged, pleading with his body and his words, snarling and twisting until Illya could only hang on. Pushing inside that perfect tightness until Williams cries rang out, until he went brutal/perfect tight around him, clenching hard and Illya came without a sound, biting back even the slightest gasp as orgasm slammed into him like a lightning strike, losing himself in the sweet glory of the body beneath him.

It may have been minutes later that Illya blinked away the darkness rimming his vision, silently cursing himself for his carelessness. It was pure luck that William was still insensible in his own muddled thoughts and hadn't chosen to take advantage of Illya's untimely stupor.

Carefully, he withdrew, hissing a little at his own soreness from a too-dry fuck, and groped for his clothing. Illya felt clammy with sweat, sticky at the crotch and beneath his arms, but cleaning himself would have to wait. William watched him dress in silence, eyes rimmed red and teeth bared in a grimace.

"Is this where there are to be threats? Illya asked coolly, straightening his tie. "You will hunt me down, kill me, yes?"

"Think this is where you make me promise to leave you alone," William whispered. His voice was cracked from his screaming, hoarse and faint. "Then you let me go, yeah?"

"No," Illya disagreed softly. "Such promises are not to be kept. But I will let you go, for I do keep my promises."

It was a gamble, Illya knew, and his inner common sense howled angrily at his foolishness. He ignored it, undid one cuff and before he could reach the other a shockingly strong arm wrapped around him, yanking him forward.

Mistake, a mistake, and Illya kept his eyes closed, waited to die.

And felt a hard mouth on his own, teeth slashing against his lips until he tasted the hot iron tang of his own blood, William's mouth against his own in a spiteful clash of teeth and tongue that only a sadist would call a kiss.

William pulled back to let Illya suck in a harsh breath, to stare in mute shock at golden eyes shining out of a demonic face. "Should kill you for that," William rasped out, licking away the trickle of blood flowing down Illya's chin, his tongue probing against Illya's torn lip.

"Perhaps you should," Illya whispered numbly. By all the gods, he had never...he couldn't have...

William grinned at him, flashing needle sharp teeth, "Don't think so, not yet." He plucked the key from Illya's nerveless fingers and released his other wrist, then his ankles before rolling to his feet and pulling on his scruffy clothes.

"Be seeing you around, pet," William called over his shoulder, tugging on his duster as he swept towards the door.

"I'm sure you shall, William," Illya couldn't look away from him, slim-hips and sharp cheekbones, pretty, yes, inhumanly pretty.

William paused at the door, leaned against the jamb as he turned back, "Oh, luv, I think it would be better if you called me Spike."

Illya could not have said why that made a shiver run down his spine, an errant chill that sank into him to the core as William, no, Spike, turned away from him and his sharp, high laughter echoed around Illya, through the small room where he sat alone and trembled, his mouth filled with the taste of his own blood.

 

-finis-


End file.
